A Room Of Our Own!

There’s Biscuits Enough For All The “Good” Women

December 15, 2009

Yawn. Another so-called feminist group has cropped up, just to, you guessed it, elevate themselves above other women. Yes, yes, to soothe the antagonistic nerves of men who presented to them a theoretical post about a non-existing reality (male fetuses and babies being murdered) compared to, you know, a reality (females fetuses and babies being murdered), the good and kind cookie-snatchers assured the menz that none of that hyperbolic-out-of-the box thinking will be allowed on their watch.

Obviously, it is more important to them to spare a man’s feelings than it is to support a female centered blog, even if that support requires nothing more than not using us as an example of something out of their scope. Because, men can never be allowed to feel as if there are women who don’t care about male welfare over the welfare of females.

Please someone, anyone toss them the biscuits/cookies they so desperately need.

We oppose men’s groups on our campuses! can go fuck themselves. They are nothing more than a pseudo-equality-feminist-reaction (with pseudo male supporters who just want to get in the pants of “feminists” so he can brag that he had sex with a “feminist”and/or homosexual men who will get more points from society for being a feminist than a woman will) that will cave the second one of those “good” men un-join their little man’s club and present them with a blood diamond in exchange for a life time of servitude. (I know, I know, yours will be different. The wheel will be reinvented for real circular motion).

Here’s a clue, if what you allow on your site (the demonization of our blog, –a female-centered place) cannot or is not intended to subvert the patriarchy, then you are acting in accordance with the patriarchy. Men have power in society; therefore, if they are opposing a female stance, when you let that male speak on your blog or degrade other feminists, you are reinforcing his power. There is no equality in making way for oppressors to flaunt their privilege.

Of course the first one to speak up and say “none of that will be tolerated here” was a man (Facebook is calling that person a “him”). There was no elaboration until a woman came next. But of course, men can only think of themselves, they cannot even bother to take the next step. Nevertheless, she is still colluding whether she acknowledges females are being murdered or not. Their “good” is always at the expense of “bad” women. Fuck them. Assholes.

It seems that these equality types are in unending supply. The men are just pathetic. “Mommy mommy look, a feminist said something Baaaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!!”
“Oh it’s okay honey, we’re not like the evil ones, we’ll still suck up to you.”

Oh shut up you little frostyboy misogynist. The only in fighting you are capable of provoking is between your two brain cells. I am doing Victoria a service. Either she will learn from her mistake or she will not, but there is hope. Nevertheless, her mistake is no more than run of the mill neophyte-ism. But, your misogyny, your misogyny is oppression. Who are the people who hang out at such forums that you call home, but losers! No doubt, you are all racists as well. Instead of concerning yourself with feminists (pseudo or not), you should be thinking about where you are going to spend your holidays. Your father is of the ilk that will more likely kill the entire family. Has his underachievement been stressing him out more than usual lately? Are all the guns safely locked away? Did he steal a gun from Squire Tory from ––shire when he was poaching for the family’s Christmas feast? If he did, you better watch out. Your mother said she would not let you hide behind her apron strings this year when your father is under the violent influence of low self-esteem and Bacchus. Take cover.

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“Ye miserable, crawling worms, are ye here again, then? Have ye come like Nimshi, son Rehoboam, secretly out of yer doomed houses to hear what’s comin’ to ye? Have ye come, old and young, sick and well, matrons and virgins (if there is any virgins among ye, which is not likely, the world bein’ in the wicked state it is), old men and young lads, to hear me tellin’ o’ the great crimson lickin’ flames o’ hell fire?
Aye, ye’ve come,
Dozens of ye. Hundreds of ye. Like rats to a granary. Like field-mice when there’s harvest home. And what good will it do ye?
Ye’re all damned!
Damned!
Oh, do ye ever stop to think what that word means when ye use it every day, so lightly, o’ yer wicked lives? No. Ye doan’t. Ye never stop to think what anything means, do ye? Well, I’ll tell ye. It means endless horrifyin’ torment, with yer poor sinful bodies stretched out on hot gridirons in the nethermost fiery pit of hell, and demons mockin’ ye while they waves cooling jellies in front of ye, and binds ye down tighter on yer dreadful bed. Aye, an’ the air’ll be full of the stench of burnt flesh and the screams of your nearest and dearest...
Ye know, doan't ye, what it feels like when ye burn yer hand in takin’ a cake out of the oven or wi’ a match when ye’re lightin’ one of they godless cigarettes? Aye. It stings wi’ a fearful pain, doan’t it? And ye run away to clap a bit o’ butter on it to take the pain away. Ah, but’"
(an impressive pause)
"there’ll be no butter in hell! Yer whoal body will be burnin’ and stingin’ wi’ that unbearable pain, and yer blackened tongues will be stickin’ out of yer mouth, and yer cracked lips will try to scream out for a drop of water, but no sound woan’t come because yer throat is drier nor the sandy desert and yer eyes will be beatin’ like great red-hot balls against yer shrivelled eyelids....” ---Amos Starkadder, Cold Comfort Farm.

"Any time something is written against me, I not only share the sentiment but feel I could do the job far better myself. Perhaps I should advise would-be enemies to send me their grievances beforehand, with full assurance that they will receive my every aid and support. I have even secretly longed to write, under a pen name, a merciless tirade against myself."--- Jorge Luis Borges, (autobiographical essay, 1970).